When it comes to the tangled emotional journeys and layered themes in Wicked For Good, it’s hard not to come away with a head full of questions, frustrations, and little epiphanies—honestly, I left the theater feeling like I could write a whole thesis on the choices these characters make, the unfairness of their consequences, and the way the film weaves together classic fantasy, modern feminism, and that oh-so-relatable feeling of regret that clings to even the happiest endings, so let’s dive deep into the mess, starting with Glinda and Alphaba’s final reckoning, because when Glinda says, “We’ve both done bad things,” I just want to hit pause and be like, “Hold up, girl—let’s not pretend these are equal,” since Alphaba’s crime, if you can call it that, is falling for a man who, frankly, chose her of his own free will, while Glinda, whether she meant to or not, set in motion the events that led to Alphaba’s sister’s death, and yet, in the end, Alphaba’s the bigger person, forgiving and moving forward in a way that’s almost superhumanly selfless, which is probably why I relate more to Glinda, always wanting to fix things that maybe can’t be fixed, always yearning for the magic I don’t quite have, and always just a little resistant to owning the full weight of my mistakes (and I see a lot of people in that, not just me, which makes this whole dynamic so fascinating).
The film’s not content to just leave things there; it draws these brilliant parallels between the male characters and the choices they make—Fiyero, who loves Alphaba but sticks with Glinda for convenience, and Boq, who loves Glinda but settles for Nessa out of pressure—and the way that, for both, “it’s easier until it isn’t,” because the fallout is always bigger and messier than any of them expect, and you can see the heartbreak ripple out through everyone, especially as Nessa’s pain and bitterness curdle into something truly “wicked,” trapping Boq and lashing out at everyone in her path, echoing the generational trauma her father inflicted on their family, a cycle of harm that the film isn’t afraid to stare straight in the face.
What stuck with me most, though, was how the movie quietly but insistently insists that you can’t have it all, at least not at the same time—Alphaba gets love but loses power, Glinda gets power but loses love, and both women, by the end, have to own the choices they made and the losses those choices cost them, a message that feels almost radical in a genre that usually promises everything can work out if you just believe hard enough; instead, we see two women who have to live with “the least amount of regret,” as Batman once said, and who realize that while they might sometimes envy the other’s ending, they couldn’t truly live with it, either—a kind of bittersweet, mature truth that’s rare in big-budget musicals, and one that left me both satisfied and a little gutted.
The ending itself is beautifully, painfully ambiguous: Alphaba and Fiyero, together in a magical desert that’s barren but perfect for them, a place where love is enough and the world falls away; Glinda, ascending to power, finally able to do magic, but trading the warmth of friendship and romance for the cold crown and the lonely bubble at the top, her journey from self-absorbed popularity queen to genuine leader tinged with loss, guilt, and the knowledge that doing good sometimes means living with wounds that don’t heal—and I love that the film doesn’t shy away from how hard that is, especially for women who are so often told they should be able to “have it all.”
There’s also the way the film handles power, agency, and the cost of ambition: Glinda’s transformation from a girl who only wanted to be liked and admired into someone who commands the room, tells off the wizard, and steps into her role as a force for good is both triumphant and tragic, because she gets everything she wanted but loses almost everything that once mattered, and Ariana Grande’s performance captures that mix of strength, and vulnerability that makes Glinda not just a standard but a living, breathing, flawed human being; meanwhile, Alphaba’s selflessness is almost saintly, and her willingness to step aside, hand over her own magic, and let Glinda carry the torch is the kind of emotional offering that, honestly, make most of us struggle to make.
I found myself frustrated with some of the storytelling choices—rushed pacing, moments that felt like shorthand for fans rather than fully realized scenes, musical numbers (like “No Good Deed”) that go big on spectacle but lose the emotional close-up, or plot points that land with a thud because the camera never quite lets you in—but then there are these flashes of brilliance: the way the film draws sharp parallels to real historical horrors during the animal roundups or the way it lingers on the cost of real, unfixable damage in a fantasy world that’s usually all about second chances and magic resets.
And then there’s that haunting moment—Dorothy’s shadow holding up the broom, the ultimate act of another woman, manipulated and lied to, unwittingly destroying someone else as Glinda watches from the closet, wracked with guilt and helplessness, a scene layered with so much commentary about culpability, cycles of trauma, and the ways women are set against each other by systems that profit from their pain; honestly, it’s the kind of movie that stays with you long after the credits roll up the screen, and makes you want to debate, and rethink what you thought you knew about these characters and their world.
For all its flaws and rushed beats, Wicked For Good left me with a pile of questions, a lot of feelings, and the rare satisfaction of seeing a movie wrestle honestly with what it means to live with regret, to choose between love and ambition, and to keep fighting for good even when the personal cost is high; I’m dying to hear how it landed for you—what moments hit hardest, what endings you’d choose, and how you felt about the way these women’s stories tangled together in the end, so let’s talk it out, because if nothing else, Wicked For Good gives us a lot to work through, and I’m here for every complicated, bittersweet minute of it.